


Maybe Baby

by DeathjunkE



Series: Baby Boy [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Spoilers because I don't know what not to give away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathjunkE/pseuds/DeathjunkE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal promised himself that he would never have children.<br/>Now he has to figure out what exactly that promise entails when Peter and Elle are in need of his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Funny thing, I’ve had this story in my head ever since Neal said his father was a dirty cop. And my head cannon was frighteningly close to cannon cannon so like to think my brain is magical. :D
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, jennamcquaid for making this story readable and limiting my coma craziness.
> 
> I'll post the links to the art as soon as i have them
> 
> And [here](http://www.sendspace.com/file/t8j9vc) is the accompanying [fan mix](http://www.sendspace.com/file/t8j9vc). :)

**Part 01** :  
May 2012

Peter was at work, taking on a long shift and Elizabeth was glad. She didn't want to have to tell him. It was hard enough just knowing.

Elizabeth bit her lower lip as she tucked the picture away with the others. Five others, proof of five of her failures stacked neatly in envelopes in a decorative box that she kept at the top of her closet. The box she only opened on five days of the year— next year she would open it six times.

She let Satchmo climb up on the bed and press his head into her side. Usually she would have scolded him and told him to get down, but right now, she needed the closeness and support. Satchmo wouldn't judge —not that Peter ever would, but Satch wouldn't look at her with heartbroken eyes or try to convince her that this wasn't her fault. Satchmo would only lay there and lick her wrists and she wrapped her arms around him and cried.

How long she lay there, her arms around Satchmo sobbing heartbrokenly into his fur she didn't know, but apparently it was long enough for someone to find her. She felt the bed dip besides her and long fingers drag through her hair. The calluses were too small and awkwardly placed to be Peter's hands. When she pulled her face away from the dog and looked behind her she realized that it was Neal who was petting her hair.

He didn't ask what was wrong, tried to hug her or anything else. He just ran a hand through her hair as he fiddled with his cell phone with the other. He must have texted Peter because just moments later he was there in the room as well.

He took one look around, caught sight of the box on the bed and immediately the pieces fit together. "Oh, Honey…" He murmured as he fit the cover onto the box and put it carefully to the side. "Another?"

"Peter…" El pulled away from Satchmo and tried to make herself presentable once more. She wiped at her face trying to clear away the tears and make up and the ugliness of every failure, "I'm sorry! I was going to tell you once I was in the clear… but…"

"Don't worry about that, I understand. It will be okay."

Neal gave up his seat at Elizabeth's side to Peter and slowly edged his way towards the door. He clicked his tongue softly and Satchmo climbed down off the bed and with a look back at El and a slow whine he came to Neal's side and they left the bedroom.

(-)

Peter came down from his bedroom an hour and a half later looking wrung out and in need of a stiff drink.

"How is she?"

"Depressed, guilty, aggravated, hurt… the list goes on and on." Peter snatched a beer from the fridge and popped it open.

"What happened?"

"Another miscarriage…" Peter bolted two fingers of scotch before pouring another two into the tumbler, "the pregnancy held for a full 4 months this time."

"I didn’t know she was pregnant."

"Neither did I." Peter's thin lips pressed together, and he watched Neal with tired eyes. "She wanted to make sure it would have been a successful pregnancy before she told me anything. I wonder if she would have told me had you not found her like that."

"She would have…" Neal was certain, he had made a living of predicting how people would react and he was seldom wrong. Besides Elizabeth was an honest woman who couldn’t keep anything from her husband. "I didn't know you two were trying for kids."

"We weren't, not this time anyway." Peter passed a tumbler of scotch to Neal, who sipped it delicately and savored the flavor instead of the burn. "The first pregnancy was a surprise, neither one of us were expecting it. The second time until the fifth we were actively trying. This time… I wasn't trying, but that doesn’t mean El wasn't."

"Oh"

"She wants a baby… I told her I don’t mind if we adopt, or if we try a surrogate."

"The agencies didn't turn you down did they? You two are a lovely couple, you've got a good marriage, a nice home, two very good incomes and are really, really good people. I mean how much better can it possibly get?"

"El doesn’t want to adopt, she wants to give birth to her own child." Peter scrubbed his face with his hands and tucked the bottle back in the cabinet. He looked older, tired as he wrenched the words out. "El never asks for a single thing from me besides staying safe during work. This is something she wants heart and soul and I'm not going to tell her no."

"Have you had your sperm count checked?" Neal inquired; it seemed like something that might have been overlooked.

"How do you know so much about this?"

"Kate had a sister who couldn't conceive because her eggs had some sort of genetic problem. They tested the boyfriend's sperm to make sure that the problem was with the eggs."

"I don't think there is anything wrong with my swimmers… I mean, I manage to get her pregnant; they just don’t make it to full term." Peter frowned into his empty glass and sighed deeply, "But yeah, I'll set up an appointment."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 02** :  
August 1997

There was a time, before all the cons, and all the marks, and all the designer suits and champagne where Neal was told that he looked good in blue. The crisp blue uniform of a policeman offset his eyes and stream lined his body, accenting his figure and making him the stuff of women's wet dreams.

A few months before he completed the academy his mother smiled and placed a hand on his arm as she introduced him to some of her friends and acquaintances. "This is my son, David," she would say, forgetting to mention that he preferred to go by Neal, his middle name. He never though much of it she never remembered much of anything that had to do with him anyway. "He's going to graduate from the academy in the spring."

"Which one?" was the inevitable question.

"The police academy, ma'am." He would say, feeling the heat climbing up his neck as the women 'Ooo'ed and 'Ahh'ed and told him what a fine cop he would make.

"He's going to be a great Officer, just like his father." His mother said proudly, giving his arm another fond pat.

"Let's hope not," one woman said knocking back the wine left in her champagne flute. She stood abruptly, snatched up her sweater and left.

There was an awkward silence for a moment before the other women decided to pretend as if nothing had happened. They asked him if he was singel and well look at that! They had daughters and nieces his age and he should really come to meet them some time.

Neal smiled pleasantly, in that detached way he had perfected at a very young age and made noises about forgetting to buy ice as his mother asked to slip away from the group of older women. It was raining, but Neal didn’t bother with an umbrella.

It didn’t take very long to find the woman who made the comment; she was walking towards a bus station and stopped when he called out to her. She didn’t seem like anything special, dressed in a black A-line dress with ¾ sleeves, a white lace shawl draped over her shoulders, crisp white heels and her dark drown hair swept up into a tight bun.

"What did you mean?"

"I meant what I said," she muttered as she pulled him under her umbrella.

She steered them towards one of the many small cafés on the way to the station. They sat near the windows, a carafe of coffee and two slices of pound cake between them. "You could be a cop, you could be the best cop ever if you wanted. But don’t be a cop for the sake of your father, and certainly don’t be the type of Cop he was."

"He was a good cop."

"That's what your mother told you," Neal nodded, "but is it the truth?"

"What reason would my mother have to lie to me? My dad was a cop and he was killed in a shoot out when I was a baby."

"Do you enjoy the fantasy? Or do you want to know the truth?" The woman lifter her cup to her lips and drank deeply, her eyes never leaving his.

"He was a cop, that's the truth"

"Oh that's certainly part of the truth." She set her cup down, and pulled one of the slices of cake over to herself. "Your father was charged for murder, trafficking and extortion too. "

"You're lying."

"Why would I lie Neal?" Her face was serene, dark eyes watching him closely and her red painted lips curled in an ironic smile. "What can I possibly get from lying to you? They covered motive in the academy didn’t they?"

“I don’t know you, hell, I don't even know your name.”

“Camille Leevi, it’s a pleasure. I knew your father rather intimately.”

“First you’re telling me my father was a crook, now he’s an adulterer too?”

“There are different kinds of intimate boy. Your father and I were good friends and that’s the end of it. He asked me to make sure you were taken care of.” Camille's gaze made Neal want to squirm, he felt like one of those pinned bugs at the natural history museum. Her brown eyes were sharp, penetrating and he was quite certain that they were stripping away the layers one by one. “I did just that, I made sure you were put into the best schools, the best art programs and camps and everything else.

You’ve never wanted for anything, have you Neal? I’ve provided you with the very best of everything, tutors, art supplies, and a home. All doors are open just for you. Everything that you want is there if you are willing to work for it, to be more than your father ever was.

God knows, I loved the man like my own brother but he made stupid choices. There is no getting around that. He’s in prison for another 25 years and his baby son is a grown man. All the advice I have to give boils down to this; Do what you love, be happy. If being a policeman is what you want, then do it. Work hard, be the best damn cop the city has ever seen.”

Camille wiped her mouth neatly with the napkin that had been in her lap and stood, she was clearly regal, full of grace and was impossibly stern. Her coffee colored skin hid her age well but the tell tale lines around her eyes and mouth made it easy to tell she was not as young as she appeared. "Just don’t think things will be easy for you with the legacy he’s left for you.”

Camille threw a 50 onto the tabletop and left the café her umbrella bobbing along the street.

Neal ordered another coffee and held his head in his hands as he thought back on his life. As a child he had gone to exclusive private schools and day cares, He'd spent his summers in camps the taught the fine arts, equestrian riding and music, there were two holidays out of the country every year since he could remember and etiquette lessons as well.

His mother never worked. She'd been a stay at home mom who had a home in a good area of St. Louis and so much leisure time more often than not she didn’t know what to do with herself.

"We live off of our father's pension and he life insurance settlement. I don’t want to talk about this anymore, remembering your father… It's hard for me." She had said when Neal asked her why she didn’t work like the mothers of the other students in the 3rd grade.

So it had come down to this; either his mother had been feeding him bullshit his entire life, or this woman —Camille, had been lying through her teeth to get under his skin.

 

*

"Eln, is it true?"

"Is what true Neal?" He could see in her fact that she already knew what he was going to ask. She wouldn't look up from the carrots she was chopping, focusing on the board and knife entirely too much.

"Was my father really a dirty cop?"

Eln huffed out a tired and exasperated breath and put the knife down with far more care than was necessary. "You've been speaking to the wrong people."

"Who cares who I've been speaking to? I just want to know the truth."

"The truth is subject of opinion and point of view as much as lies are. My truth is very, very different from Camille's truth."

"It's a yes or no question, Eln."

"Yes, your father was arrested for those things. But there were circumstances… circumstances made him cut his losses. We're in WIT-SEC now because of what I know and what I've seen. Telling you would only put you in danger." Eln went back to chopping in that abrupt way that made it clear he would be getting no answers out of her. "Camille took it upon herself to look after you, to make sure you were well taken care of and safe. The system isn't perfect and this situation…. it's all one huge mess."

 

*

It didn't take awfully long to find out who was lying. A few search through the computer archives at both the library and the Academy's own database. He found headlines, dozens of them about James Bennett.

' **DIRTY COP KILLS 6 DURING A DRUG BUST** '  
' **FORMER OFFICER OF THE YEAR, TODAY'S MOST WANTED CRIMINAL** '  
' **BENNETT TRIAL VERDICT; GUILTY. **'****

It was eerie to see the man that mother kept pictures of on the mantle in the papers. In these black and white photos he was being led away in cuffs, he was approaching the courthouse, and his mug shot. There were no smiles, no playfulness—only a stark, shell-shocked look.

The pictures looked nothing like the once/man he'd come to know, the pictures that his mother kept on the side tables in the living room. Those pictures were of happy times; His parents smiling together, arms wrapped around one another as they sprawled over a small loveseat, one picture of his father playing pool with some friends laughing and winking at the camera and the final picture, the one that was kept in a place of honor on the mantle besides an urn was of his father in his uniform.

There were no articles about his death, no death certificates and nothing to indicate that the man was dead. The only thing that kept popping up was the fact that he had been taken to an upstate prison to serve out is 45 year prison sentence. ** **  
****

 

*

"Camille," Here he was again, sitting across from this woman with coffee between them. This time they were in New York, not St. Louis and she wasn't impeccably dressed, she wore a stained blue smock over a simple gray dress. Her feet were bare, and her toes drummed against the floorboards. "If he's not dead then why can't I see him?"

"He doesn’t want you to see him." She held up a paint-splattered hand in a placating motion, "Now don’t get bent out of shape, James would love to see you, but he doesn’t want you seeing him."

"That makes no sense." Neal groused, his eyes following her hands as maneuvered the palette knife.

"It makes a lot of sense."

"How?"

"He's ashamed." The woman scraped the flat knife off and scrubbed her hands clean on a ratty piece of scrap cloth. She looked a lot less but together, but some how more elegant. "He doesn’t want his only son to see him in prison. You know he hasn't seen you since you were two, right? You know nothing about him, he knows nothing about you; you both are perfect strangers. He'd rather remember the chubby baby who thought he hung the moon and stars, he'd rather you remember him like that too."

"But I don’t, I don’t remember anything! I was _two_." He stressed the last part, hoping that it would encourage the woman to be more forth coming.

"James's wishes, are James's wishes, and I wont go against them." Camille stood up and walked across the large room to the area with easels and canvases and tubes and gallons of paint. "Come here, Neal. Come show me the skill and natural talent your teachers raved to me about."

Camille smiled at Neal's obvious surprise; "I don't throw away money on lost causes, Neal. I was briefed about your grades, your extracurricular activities and your interests constantly. If your mother ever wanted a dime for you she had to justify it to me, after that I did my own research and made sure that you had the very best of it all. You've been one of my more costly investments, you know?"

"If I'm an investment, then what, pray tell, do you expect from me?"

"I expect return in the form of a good, and successful man." She said lightly as she handed him a paintbrush and one of her spare smocks. "Relax, paint, and get your thoughts together."

And so Neal painted. He looked out of the window and painted the skyline as it stretched out before him. There was something awfully meditative about the whole thing, seeing and translating the image, line for line, and color for color, onto canvas.

While painting, things became clear for Neal.

He wouldn’t be seeing his mother anymore, he had little use for the woman if all she could ever do was lie to him and use him to fulfill her dreams of travel and a leisurely life. He would not become a cop. That was something he had wanted to do to feel close to the dead father of his mother's fallacies, a man that never existed and that he would never know.

As he painted one thought became clear to Neal, he didn't know who he was. Well in the literal sense he did; he was Neal —not David, he'd answered to David, Davey, for years but it never felt half as natural as being called Neal. And now he knew why. Hell, Caffery was not even his real surname. He used it because it was his mother's name, it wasn't flagged by the WIT-SEC people and he could say it with out thinking of the man who didn't want to meet him.

Neal realized that his life had been built on lies and deceit. There was no legacy for him, nothing that he knew true anymore. He would never have anything to pass onto any children he sired because he himself was a lie— not a lie of his own creation, but a lie still.

Neal decided then and there that he would never have children.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 03** :  
July 2012 

It had taken Peter a lot not to call in today and say he was taking off. He wanted to stay with El today but she urged him to go in to work. She said she wanted to be alone for the day, that she had to come to terms with this one

Peter let out a breathy sigh as he tossed the case file down onto the table. "We've got nothing so far…"

"We've got motive,"

"And means,"

"But no proof. There are no cameras on that block, nothing that can place Gerardo in the area.

"It’s a residential space right?" Jones offered, he leaned back in his chair and studied the picture of the neighborhood, "some one had to have seen him or his car, there are only 2 registered Bugatti Veyron in New York City"

"So we go door to door and see what people know? All right, sounds good. Lets roll people. We'll keep it in a three block radius of where our John Doe's body was found."

All of the agents scattered from the room, going to their desks to grab their gear and head for the garage. Neal watched them all trickle out as Peter shuffled through his papers and gathered them together.

"How's Elizabeth?"

"I dunno," Peter fidgeted a bit rubbing the tip of his tacky tie, "As well as anyone can be under the circumstances I guess."

"And how are you?" Neal asked, quietly.

"Heh, I've got no clue… I don’t know what to do, I mean it's my kid too you know … and I… I want to have a little El or me around. But I worry, El— she's really hurting and I feel just awful because the idea of a kid is wonderful and not real in away —no, no not real, bad choice of words. Those kids were real enough, did you know they were all old enough to be able to tell the gender? I think I mean abstract." Peter gazed out the window of his office and looked down on the city, anything so that he wouldn't have to face Neal. His sad looks were nearly identical to Elizabeth's that it was just a painful reminder. "El felt them in her body, the morning sickness, loss of appetite, swollen body parts… and maybe she felt them move too, I don't know but for her it was physical. It wasn’t for me so..."

Neal pulled open the passenger door of the Taurus and slid in, "Peter, don't feel bad about your feelings. Yeah, El's devastated and you're taking this better but if you were a wreck who would be there for her?"

Peter nodded and flipped on the receiver radio and pulled out of the Garage.

*

The woman who opened the door wasn’t quite what they expected. Her dark curly hair was in a wild halo around her and on her shoulders. Her face was round and chubby, her eyes large and deep brown and only her bottom lip had any lipstick. She was mostly naked, in a silky slip of a gown that was the only thing hiding her breast from view and a pair of panties.

"You, are not Eamon, nor are you Francine." She said through narrowed eyes.

"No, I'm not. My name is Peter Burke and I'm with the FBI, this is my consultant Neal Caffery."

When she heard Neal's name a smirk spread across her lips and she quirked her eyebrow. " _the_ Neal Caffery?"

"The one and only." Neal mock bowed and extended his hand.

"We wanted to know if we could ask you a few questions, Miss…"

"Ira Quinton, come in, I'm in the middle of getting dressed," she flicked her gaze back to Neal and tipped her chin at him, "I've got some one who is dying to meet you."

"Can I offer you gentlemen some tea? Coffee? Juice? Anything?" she asked snatching her lipstick up from the counter and finished applying her make up.

"Information, if you'd be so kind."

"What about?"

"Three days ago there was a murder a few blocks away,"

"I'm aware of it." She said as she slipped in to a pair of jeans. "Funny you guys are looking in to that, it's hard enough to get local PD to take our calls of shooting and fights seriously."

"Ah," Peter was caught at a loss. Was this going to turn in to a 'blame law -enforcement for everything and give no information' interview? "I'm sorry about that, but I'm charged with the investigation of financial crimes. The case I've been following puts our prime suspect in this area at the time of the murder and—"

"Say no more, I'm not going to be able to help you, I was in my studio for most of the last four days. I'm trying to get this series done before the SGCI Conference."

"Printmaking? I admit I don’t know much about it, what's your medium?"

Ira slipped on a shirt and dropped her robe on to a chair before she answered the question. "Well really, I favor metal plates, but so far I'm having some real fun with Litho. It calls for a delicate touch— which I'm not."

Peter began to stand, a grimace on his face, "Well thank you for your time. But if you've got no information—"

"Now hold on just a moment, just because I've got nothing to tell you doesn’t mean that Atticus doesn't. He's always awake at strange times. He's in this funky Monet phase."

"How so?"

"He's painting the same landscape just as he sees it at different times of the day."

"So when can we talk to your husband?" Peter inquired.

"No, not my husband, my son; Atticus Axel Quinton. Come I'll introduce you."

The house wasn't one that you normally saw in Brooklyn. For one thing, it was huge. Second, it had a decent sized lawn and yard. The architecture was also very different. It was a two-story house but the second floor stopped halfway across the roof of the first and the rest of the roof was lined with low wrought iron railing.

The roof had been turned into a deck or patio because there was a grill, several deck chairs, a few stools and some fold up easels set out. At one of the easels sat a little boy with a wild riot of curly brown hair, in only a pair of paint splattered jeans, a pallet in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

"Atticus, you've got company," Ira called.

"Tell them to go away, I'm painting." The boy huffed, never turning around.

"Look at this, despite all my effort! Such a rude child." She playfully complained.

"You're the rude one, I don’t bother you when you are working."

"'Mommy, I'm hungry', 'Mommy you've been downstairs for hours, I'm bored!', 'Mommy you erased Teenage mutant ninja turtles from the TIVO' Any of this sounds familiar?"

The boy finally spun around in his chair with a silly grin, "Nope." It took only a moment for him to realize that there were two other people standing behind his mother. "That's not Eamon or Francine… that's —Oh my God! Mom!" the child scolded his mother before he dashed off back into the house.

"Forgive him, he's going to get dressed now."

Neal walked closer to the easel and whistled, "How old is he?"

"Nine and a half."

"This is some amazing work… for an adult, let alone a child. Peter, come look at this." Neal pulled his glasses from his suit jacket and slipped them onto his face and leaned closer to examine the painting. "All of the details are impeccable… he needs to work on his color mixing though. His shades are off."

Peter looked at the painting; he was clearly impressed ", It's like a photograph,"

"Yes, the colors are fine now but when it dries, it will dry lighter than the color he's got here." Neal glanced at a tube of paint on the edge of the easel, "Oils, at nine? I'm impressed."

"Thank you." Peter and Neal turned to see the boy who just dashed past them a few moments ago. He was now fully dressed, he'd traded his paint stained jeans for dove gray slacks, matching vest, a crisp white shirt and a lavender tie.

"Nice," Neal complimented looking at the kid. "I didn't know Saville Row carried children's sizes?"

"They don’t, I just look at the pictures and figure out the pattern so Ms. Libby down the block can make them."

"Pattern making as well? A man of many talents." The child turned bright red and kept his eyes on his feet, as Neal praised him, "and very good taste."

"I've got no clue where he got it from." Ira shook her head in askance, "I've always lived in jeans and when I dressed him it was in jeans too. He told me he wanted suits a few years back and he paid for them himself and there are worse things."

"What about going to the park?"

"He'd rather sketch the others playing than play himself. Besides, he pays for his own suits with the paintings he sells and his allowance. How can I complain?"

"Atticus,"

"Yes, Mr. Caffery?"

"Neal is fine," Neal gave the kid a friendly smile and nearly laughed when the poor boy's cheeks turned red. "Did you paint any of these pictures 3 days ago?"

"Yeah, three of them. One in the morning and two that night, for the contrast."

"Of course."

"Come I'll show them to you!"

Ira smiled gently as she watched her son all but drag Neal into the house and down the stairs. "I know it wasn't intentional, but really I've got to thank you for bringing Mr. Caffery here."

"Oh, why?"

"He's Atti's hero. Atti wants to be as good as Caffery, meaning he wants to paint so well that no one could tell the difference between his work and the Masters without scientific dating." The woman looked at the painting that was still on the easel with an appraising eye. "And yeah, I know internationally known, pretty boy, art forger and thief isn't the best role model but there are many who are much worse. Also I don’t have to give the 'No, you cannot be a pirate' speech anymore or pay for sailing classes."

"A Pirate?"

"Treasure Planet and Pirates of the Caribean came on the Disney channel when he was four. And when Atti likes something he tends to get a bit obsessed."

*

Neal watched the child shift through the stacks of canvases in a corner of the basement as he searched for the requested pictures and wondered if he had a kid would he be like Atticus with a love for fine suits and a talent for painting? Or would his own child prefer to tussle with other boys in the park getting dirty in the mud with jeans and sneakers?

Just by looking around the basement studio it was easy to see that Atticus had come by his talent honestly. His mother's works, some completed, some test prints hanging on the wall and numerous sketches strewn about made it apparent that in this family talent in the visual arts was probably genetic.

But that wasn't always the case. Neal himself was the child of a woman who couldn't draw a stick figure if you paid her and a father he knew nothing about. He's had his skills fostered and grown with countless classes, summers at art camps, apprenticeships to crafting artisans and years and years of study.

Peter's children… now that was a thought. Would they be fun loving, tough as nails, independent beauties like Elizabeth or would they be sweet, athletic, clever little smartasses like Peter? Which ever they came out, Neal just hoped they had El's hairline.

"Found them!" Atticus called, bringing over the canvases. Neal found what he was looking for immediately. In the second painting was Gerrod's Bugatti Veyron complete with licenses plate.

"This one, how much?" Neal pulled his money clip from his pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 04** :  
August 2012

"We just need some samples, Mr. Burke." The nurse was pretty and she was nice. She had a sweet voice, round face and really dark brown hair. She smiled at him, handed him two plastic a cups, with little vials in with rubber corks in each. "I'll take your blood now, the blue cap is for sperm the green cap is for urine. I'll leave the room after I take your blood. These rooms are sound proof, there are some magazines on the low table over there and please take all the time you need."

"Thank you, Ms…"

"I'm Elaine." She tied the elastic gauntlet around his bicep and swabbed his arm with the antiseptic wipe. "For what it's worth, I think you're very brave to have requested a full testing. A lot of men… when their wives can't conceive or carry to term, they refuse to believe it could be an issue with their sperm. I guess they think that what ever possible problem there might be makes them less of a man— but it's silly because so many things can be fixed easily, life style changes, medication or even a hormone injection at times…"

"If the problem is more serious than that?"

"Well Mr. Burke, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Don’t stress yourself out about it now."

"But if there is a serious problem?"

"If the semen is viable we can try to harvest the semen directly from your testicles and inseminate your wife, or you can look into a sperm donor. Many men have a brother, or another male relatives donate their semen so that they can have children."

Peter hummed briefly and nodded. Anne Elaine pulled the needle out and threw it in the sharps bin before sealing off the vial of blood and leaving the room. Peter grimaced as he made his way to the bathroom at the back of the room.

The urine sample was the easiest, but the sperm sample…

Peter sighed and rubbed his cock lightly. If there had ever been a time where he felt less like masturbating he couldn't remember it. The room didn't look or smell like a doctor's office, in fact it was more akin to someone's sitting room with cushy chairs and paintings on the walls.

This needed to be done, Peter told himself, despite his or his cock's disinterest. Peter gripped his cock firmly in his left hand and pulled at it slow and rough, letting his thumb glide over the head.

*

Peter leaned against the wall of the elevator, sighing as he felt to cool metal through his suit jacket. Somehow he just knew that the tests would come back with some irreparable diagnosis.

Maybe he was impotent?

God he felt like such a failure. The one thing that he should be able to do… Something that stupid teenage boys and other men did everyday without even trying.

Peter shook off his thoughts, moving to his work mind frame as the doors opened and he walked into the bullpen. "Joseph, Conner. Go take a few cars and bring in Gerrod. Diana, Jones, Michaels, Carter, Caffery; with me."

"What's up boss?" Jones said as he slipped into his customary place at the conference table.

"We've just placed Gerrod in the vicinity of the crime." Peter pulled the painting out of the evidence box and laid it on the table, "Not only do we have mini-Neal's painting but a picture had just been brought forward—"

"Mini-Neal?" Diana questioned, with a raised eyebrow. "You've got kids now Caffery?"

"Nope."

"We're going to have to watch out for this kid," Peter joked amiably, "paints nearly as well as Caffery and dresses in ridiculous suits too. All he needs is a hat and a few forged bonds."

Peter tossed two pictures on to the table, one was of the boy from the other day, Atticus, holding his painting and smiling. The second was a shot taken from what looked like a surveillance camera.

"I see what you mean about the suits," Jones chuckled before pulling the second picture towards himself. "This is a Bugatti Veyron and the plates are the same in the painting, the picture and Gerrod's files."

"That picture came from a spy-cam, of all things. The woman who lives across from here, where the car was parked on the day of the murder, hadn't known that her son knew about the camera. He turned the model boat it was hidden in towards the window to sneak his girlfriend in and this is what it picked up. We've got the car, Gerrod getting out of the car with a clean shirt and back in with bloodstains on his sleeves. You can see the car's license plates and once we zoom in you can even see Atticus on his balcony painting."

"We've got this wrapped up then." Diana said with a nod, "After we bring this asshole in we can go home at a decent time?"

"Yup." The confirmation was met with nods of approval, sighs of relief and more than a few discrete cheers.

"How old is this kid any way?" Jones tapped the first picture, his eyebrows drawn together in contemplation.

"Nine." Peter smirked, clearly up to no good. "Yeah, Caffery is his role model."

"No way." Diana laughed, eyeing up Neal who looked surprisingly indignant.

"I guess that means we're going to have to keep eyes on this kid or else you'll never get to retire Peter." Jones elbowed Neal with wry look "Is this kid one yours? I mean for all we've got in your file there's even more we don’t know."

"I'm flattered, but no." Neal frowned at the painting. It would be interesting to know if he had had a child with Kate would it take after him? Or would it be more like her? It didn't matter— It didn't happen and it would never happen. Thank God. "Kids? I don’t see _any_ of those in my future."

"Haven't met the right person yet?" Jones inquired, honestly curious. He was always so earnest and open he often reminded Neal of Sachmo.

"Nope," Neal toyed with his hat looking around at the left over people who had yet to disperse, "I just have never wanted kids— I'd suck as a dad anyway."

"Oh I don't know about that…" Peter's eye brown climbed up towards his hairline and Neal knew he managed to surprise the other man. "That kid was over the moon about you. Don’t forget that girl from the poker case; you two got along famously. And there was the kidnapping—"

"Yeah, I like kids just fine and everything but… having a child— that's one of those things that are just not going to happen for me. "

The tone of finality in his voice just seemed to make Peter more curious, "You've had a vasectomy?"

On that note Jones ducked out of the room with a wince, Diana snickered and followed him out, the pair of them heading for the elevators.

"Not that it's any of your business Peter," Neal hissed like a wet cat, "but I've wouldn't let my dentist extract a tooth, you really think I'm going to let someone with a scalpel any where near my—"

"Okay, I get it." Peter held up his hands and leaned back, "Sorry, sorry. Kids aren’t for everyone, I know… It's just— No, you know what, you're right it's none of my business. Let me get my papers together and we'll head out." Peter started gathering the files on the table and then went up to his office to get the others.

Neal threaded his hands through his hair and let out a slow deep breath. He hadn't meant to get snappish. Of course Peter was curious, he and Elizabeth had been trying without success to have a child for a few years and here he was young, intact and with perfectly viable sperm that he chose not to use. It was just that kids were a sensitive topic for him, and for Peter as well. They had stumbled on a landmine of not only Neal's issues but Peter's as well.

*

"Well Mrs. Burke," The doctor striped off her gloves and tossed them into the bin before standing to wash her hands, "Everything is just fine."

"No, its not!" Elizabeth snapped as she yanked her panties over her hips and adjusted her skirt, "Every gynecologist I go to says the same thing, and I'm still miscarrying!"

"Mrs, Burke, Elizabeth if I may?" El nodded and the doctor continued, "I have done every kind of examination that I can, you've had sonograms, scopes, smears, samples and everything else I can think of. I've even checked personally for any abnormalities. There are none. You are perfectly healthy. Your _uterus is perfectly healthy_. Give yourself some time to heal, three months at the very least before trying again. There is no reason you cannot make it to full term."

"But I haven't so there has to be a problem!" El hunched over in the examination chair leaning her elbows on her knees and pressing against her eyes with her finger tips. "Why can't I carry to term?"

"It could just as easily be an issue of your husband's sperm." The older woman sighed and pulled her chair over so that she was sitting in front of Elizabeth. Gently she took the woman's dainty little hands into her own large callused ones and squeezed them gently. "Elizabeth, many times when a woman can't conceive or carry to term it is because the sperm is not viable. There may be a low sperm count, or another problem."

"This is my fault? This has to be, I've conceived… I have." It was a plea, she was begging this woman to believe her because she just knew, she _knew_ there was something.

"Darling, there is no fault here. There just is and isn't." The woman lowered her voice and took care to look Elizabeth in the eye, "Honey, your womb is viable, your eggs are viable. It is time to look at the other end of the equation."

El nodded briefly, not wanting to hear anymore and pulled her purse into her lap. "Thank you, Dr. Rosen." She gave the other woman a shaky smile before straightening her skirt, and tucking her hair behind her ears. "I see you in a few weeks, right?"

"Six, just schedule it with Nina."

*

Neal eyed Peter suspiciously from the passenger's seat. Peter's shoulders were unyielding and tight. The chords in his neck were twitching close to the surface and his already thin lips were pressed so tightly that his mouth appeared to be a gash across his face.

Usually when Peter was stressed Neal would snag his wallet, joke around and send a discrete text to Elizabeth to put a beer in the fridge. It was clear that today would be a bad day for any of those ideas.

"Peter, you alright?"

"I'm fine, Neal."

"Yeah, I'm not too sure about that." Neal caught Peter's eye in the rearview, "Peter, your jaw is clenched so hard I'd be surprised if you didn’t break your teeth. What's going on."

"I said nothing." Peter ignored the look of blatant disbelief on the younger mans face and huffed out a breath, "Neal, leave it alone just for once."

"Alright, fine. But Peter, you know… you can tell me if something is bothering you… I might be able to help. Or at least listen…" Neal clasped Peter's shoulder and opened the door stepping out of the car and then leaned down to poke his head into the passenger's side window. "Peter, I hope it all works out. Whatever it is."

Peter tried to smile, but it was more a grimace than anything else, "Thanks, Neal."

Neal waved half heartedly as he watched the Taurus merge into traffic.

*

El smEld Peter before she saw him. Peter's scent was distinct; aftershave, coffee and the natural musk of his body. It was a smell that never failed to make her feel warm, comfortable and safe. Peter's arms wound around her waist, his hand each resting on opposite hips and pulled her tight against him. Peter's nose was buried in her hair and his lips resting lightly on her shoulder.

"Hey, sweetie." She whispered, leaning back into Peter's unyielding body.

"I love you, I love you so much and I'm so, so sorry." Peter's voice cracked and the words came haltingly as if he was chocking on them. "I love you so much and I didn't know… I promise I didn't know, I wouldn't do that to you."

She felt the tears, not realizing what they were at first as they splashed on her blouse. El wiped her hands off on a hand towel and reached up threading her fingers through Peter's hair. There wasn't much else she could do for him right now other than be there, whatever the problem was she'd find out soon.

It didn’t take long to find out. Peter had untangled his body from hers after a few minutes. Elizabeth turned the rice off and peered into the oven before she made her way to the table and sat besides Peter.

She didn't look directly at him but rather at his reflection on the newly polished surface of their table. Peter was sitting with his shoulders slumped, his eyes were low and focused on the already opened envelope he was moving between his fingers.

"What is it Peter?" she inquired softly, afraid to upset the carefully maintained balance of Peter's emotions.

"Here."

El wondered what exactly was in that envelope, it had to be something devastating and hard to handle that it made Peter's hands tremble like that. She pulled the folded sheet of paper from the envelope.

_  
Mr Burke,_

_Thank you for trusting Freedman Mens Medical Clinic for your medical needs._

_We have extensively tested the samples that you have provided and must regretfully inform you that your seamen was not viable. According to the combination of various test, physicals and medical history it had been determined that past Lead poisoning has led to a mutation of the sperm cells._

_We understand that this is a difficult time for you and your family. We do offer individual, couples and group therapy…_

Elizabeth could read no more. She folded the letter back up and stuffed it back into its envelope. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and used her trembling hands to push her hair back behind her shoulders.

Was it normal to want to laugh? Not that anything about this situation was funny, but the irony of it all made her feel more than a bit hysterical.

Peter still wasn't looking at her, his eyes fixed on his hands that were laced together and squeezing each other so hard his fingers were fish belly white. Elizabeth laid her hands on top of his own and squeezed them. Peter's hands released one another and each of his hands held one of hers.

"You've mentioned adoption before…" El gave her husband a shaky smile. It was all she could do to offer comfort from the overwhelming sense of failure that she knew Peter must have been feeling. After all she had felt the same mix of shame, pain and devastation herself far too many times. "Maybe it's time I stop being so stubborn hmm?"

"I love you, El."

"I love you too, Peter."


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 05:**  
September 2012

Mozzie frowned as he looked Mrs. Suit up and down. Mrs. Suit was one of the single most classy women Mozzie had ever had had the pleasure of meeting. She was lovely, charming, witty, mysterious and heartbreakingly realistically beautiful. Much like Orazio Gentileschi's paintings rendered in flesh.

Today, however, she wasn't her usual cheerful and well put together self. Sure her hair was done and she was wearing that cornflower blue dress that she looked so good in but the bounce to her step and the playfulness in her eyes just wasn’t there.

"Mrs. Suit, Elizabeth? Are you alright?" He asked, scooting closer to her.

"I'm alright Moz, just…" she waved her hand around aimlessly, "things you know."

"Not particularly, but I'd love to help you with these things if I could."

"I wish you could help me Mozzie," She smiled hollowly and waved down a waiter. Once their wine order was in and the waiter had left the silence thickened. "Just let me get a glass or two of wine in me first alright?"

"That bad?"

"Not bad… just… difficult. Yes, difficult. And I don’t know where to start."

"Well then as Plato has been rumored to have said, 'the beginning is the most important part of the work'."

"That's as good a place as any." This time when Mrs. Suit smiled it was a little more genuine, "When Peter and I got married we said that we'd wait for a bit to have children. Our careers were just taking of and well we were living in a cramped studio and we were getting to know who we were together. It wasn’t a good time for children.

So we waited for a few years. Then when Peter got a promotion we decided to get a house and prepare for the family we would eventually have. We were in the house for about two weeks— we hadn’t even unpacked everything yet— Peter got assigned Neal's case and well, we decided to put off children until after Peter wasn’t chasing his obsession all over the world," Elizabeth smiled fondly and toyed with her wine glass, there was no jealously or animosity when she called Neal Peter's obsession. It was clearly just a strange endearment. "Peter, when he was chasing Neal he was… I'd never seen him like that before. Every clue, every lead, every near miss he was charged and insatiable. Mozzie, I tell you, Neal has done more for my sex life than anyone or anything else ever had.

Anyway, Peter was away in Spain looking into something or another crime Neal 'allegedly' committed and my stomach had started hurting and then I was bleeding. I hadn’t though much of it at the time, I was on a birth control shot and it stopped me from menstruating… but there was too much blood and I went to the doctors. They took a sonogram and it turned out I was pregnant but the baby was already dead before I found out about it. They had to… Peter had come back home and we buried Alison together…"

"Oh Elizabeth." Mozzie moved around to sit beside her and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"After Alison it was Camden, then Jessica, Olivia, Bradley… Last month, Peter Junior. I won’t ever be able to have a child of my own it seems."

"Anything you need Elizabeth. Anything, I know the best Doctors out there! They can help—"

"They can't Peter's sperm isn't viable and we want a child." El licked her lips and took a deep breath, steeling herself, "I know you told me you had been adopted Mozzie… I just wanted to know a bit about that, really. I told Peter I would consider adoption but …right now, I'm not so sure Peter and I should be having kids… I mean if I can't… Maybe it's a sign."

"It's not a sign, you would be a wonderful mother. Trust me, I spent a good deal of my childhood dreaming up the perfect mother, you're closer than any other woman I have ever met!" Mozzie's hands were warm and surprisingly rough, there were many calluses and something about the way they wrapped around her own hands made Elizabeth think of her husband. Not that she'd even mention that to either of them. "You're not letting the suit push you into this are you? I'm sure you need some time to heal from all this and he's got no right blaming you—"

"No, no not at all. Peter's been supportive. He even went to get checked out himself… It's been difficult for both of us… He's been great in all this Moz, really…"

*

Diana's face was pinched and drawn tight. She looked two seconds from putting her fist through a wall. Usually Diana could be expected to take a reprimand gracefully but this…

This was just ridiculous. Peter had never treated them this way before. He had chewed them up one side and down the other in the middle of the bullpen in a loud and condescending voice that had her on edge. And as if that wasn't enough he was telling them off for a mistake that had nothing to do with them, Peter always called the person responsible for the fuck up to the carpet but now he was on Jones and Diana for something the probieshad done. And once he was done he had stalked up the stairs to his office.

"Okay, I have never seen that before." Jones muttered as the door to Peter's office closed.

"Talk to him Caffery, because right now I'm not calm enough to do it myself." Diana snapped and stormed off to the elevators, the click of her heels echoing sharply through the office.

"What does she think I can do?"

"Magic?" Jones offered with a barely there grin.

Neal spun his hat off of his head and laid it gently on his desk and shrugged out of his suit jacket. Peter was already stung high and would probably respond best to as casual an approach as possible. Neal tipped back the rest of his coffee (a shot of strength or patience he didn’t know which yet) and followed Peter up the stairs.

(-)

"So… Does your mood today have anything to do with your mood yesterday?"

"What mood Neal?"

"Don’t do that, Peter. I'm not stupid. You know that and I know that. Whatever this is that's getting to you, you need to talk to someone or figure it out whatever works best for you because the way your acting you might have a mutiny on your hands. Diana didn't deserve that, and neither did Jones."

"God, you know… yeah." Peter hissed and dragged his palm over his face. He felt tired, exhausted— he was a mess and he knew it. Okay, that was uncalled for. I'll go apologize. I can’t let things get to me like this."

"What things Peter? Nothing is going to get solved until you acknowledge it."

Peter leveled his consultant with a flat look, "You missed your calling."

"Yeah, I know, Dr. Phil got lucky I like art more than daytime TV." Neal tipped forward in a half bow and smirked. Peter's lips stretched into a slight smile and that, Neal decided could be considered a win. "Peter?" 

The smile fell away and Peter reached back to his desk and pulled out an envelope not stamped with the bureau's seal. He handed the letter over to Neal and collapsed back into his chair looking resolutely at the view of the city.

"Oh Peter…"  
"All this time, it's been my fault."

"This isn't a fault thing Peter. This is just something that happened, circumstance."

"All this time we've been trying, El's been miserable and blaming herself for something that is my fault. And even worse I've been… the babies died because…"

"Because nature has a protocol for incorrect genetic. If the offspring isn't able to live outside of the womb the womb terminates it. Women have several miscarriages and most of the time they don’t even realize it´s anything besides their periods because usually the body can tell a day or so after the sperm and egg meet if the womb doesn’t allow for it to grow any more. Or at the very least that's what that anthropology professor said when I…" Neal eyed Peter and tucked away the anecdote for another time. "You know, the good thing about this is now that you know what the issue is you can take steps to…"

"What steps? My sperm has mutated, its permanent." Peter snapped, what universe did this kid live in? Silver linings did not apply. "I can't give my wife a child."

"Yeah but there are other options; adoption, a donor…"

"And my kid will wonder why he or she looks nothing like Daddy when they're old enough to notice. And then what if El and I decide to have a second child down along the road?"

Neal shifted his gaze from Peter to the window. The glare from the sun only let him see his own reflection. Neal frowned at his reflection, he wasn’t one to believe in signs but the glass wasn’t only reflecting his image but Peter and El's wedding photo as well.

"What if the kid looked like El?"

"I should be so lucky."

Peter's wistful smile made his stomach lurch. If anyone deserved a child it would be Peter and Elizabeth. Peter was a man of unshakeable morality and loyalty and Elizabeth would be an excElnt mother. They were good people and would raise a good kid. "What if I can guarantee the kid will look like Elizabeth?"

"You can't guarantee that."

"Yes I can."

"Unless Mozzie's been delving into genetic engineering—"

"Nothing to do with Moz. I'm never going to have kids Peter, I decided that a long time ago. But I have viable sperm, a lot of it, endless supply, hell I get rid of it constan—"

"…I get it Neal…"

He continued to talk as if Peter never opened his mouth, "If you think you can stand the idea I am willing to be your donor and your child will look just like Elizabeth. Let's face it Peter, Elizabeth and I could be twins. It would just look like the kid took after her. And…. I never wanted to be a dad anyway, so my sperms just going to waste and you'd never have to worry about me taking your place or trying to get the kid back or anything."

"Neal…"

"Just think about it Peter. If you say no, I'll leave it at that and I won’t ever mention it again, not even to Elizabeth. But don’t shut the door on this right away Peter. You and El, you two would be great parents, you'd have a great family and you both deserve that…" Neal reach over and gave Peter's shoulder a squeeze, if it was hope, support, or just friendliness he didn’t know, "Please, just think about it Peter."

(-)

Peter did in fact think about it. He thought about on the drive home.

He thought about it that night.

He thought about it the next morning.

He thought about it when slapping cuffs of the latest perp.

He thought about it at the first Sunday mass he had attuned in twenty two years.

He thought about it every time he saw Elizabeth.

He thought about every time he looked at Neal.

He thought about it every time he came upon his reflection.

He thought about it when he dropped of the final mortgage payment in the mail.

He thought about it when he walked past a school.

He thought about it when he ate ice cream.

He thought about it when he wrapped Elizabeth's birthday present.

He thought about it when he was nearly run over by a cyclist with an absurdly skinny tie.

He thought about it when it started snowing.

He thought about it when Satchmo curled up at his feet.

Peter thought about it for two entire months before he sat down across from Elizabeth with seven adoption agencies between them. "I want a baby that will look like you. That will have your smile or your hair or something that …I want to look at our child and know that you loved me so much that you gave me a son a daughter... I don’t care if the kid doesn’t look like me. I'll make my mark later maybe she'll have the best grades in her math class or maybe he'll be good at sports…. But I want them to look like you."

"What are you saying Peter?" El frowned, her eyebrows pulling together and her nose wrinkling.

Peter had seen exactly the same expression of Neal's face more than once and that gave him the bravery to continue. "What about a sperm donor? Would you consider that?"

"I… I never thought you would be okay with it. And I don’t know how comfortable you or I would be if our child looked like another man. "

"What if the child looked like you?"

"I'm not following you here sweetie."

"Neal… Neal offered once he found out to be our donor. You two look alike, close enough to be twins." Peter felt incredibly foolish saying it, "The baby would look just like you even if it looked like Neal…"

"Are you alright with that Peter?"

"I've thought about it. I'd be okay with this… I mean, I know Neal and I know…"

El laced her fingers with Peter's and smiled sweetly, "I understand."  
And she really did.

(-)

Neal true to his word never brought up his idea to Elizabeth, but regardless of that when she called him sobbing and sniffing between 'Thank you's he knew what she was talking about. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 06** :  
April 2013

It was more habit than anything else that made Neal picked the locks on the Burke's front door. He could have knocked and he knew where they kept the fake rock with the spare key, but there was still a thrill in "breaking into" the home of a federal agent that Neal just couldn’t give up. He poked his head in and then smiled at Elizabeth, who was stationed on the Sofa "Hi, El."

"Hey Neal!" She waved him in cheerfully, "I'm glad you picked the lock. I don’t really want to think about standing up again."

"Ah. The little one giving you trouble?" Neal sat down besides the pregnant woman and looked her over.

Though Elizabeth was always lovely, she was absolutely radiant pregnant. Her face was a healthy pink, her hair glossier and eyes brighter than ever and it seemed like she just couldn’t stop smiling. She was cheerful and always laughing at one thing or another. Sometimes even making jokes at her own expense; "Oh I'm just hiding the beach ball from Sachmo!" or holding two exceptionally large cantaloupes besides her baby bump and singing _[One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FClGhto1vIg)_. At the moment though Elizabeth's hands were bust trimming something with a small pair of scissors her wrists propped up on her baby bump to keep them steady.

"Just as much as you give Peter."

Neal laughed and laid a hand on El's stomach, "Hey you, behave in there!"

"Been giving my husband a hard time have you?"

"You know he wouldn’t have me any other way."

"That's true." El reached over and put a hand on Neal's knee, "You keep him on his toes and properly appreciative of his wife. I certainly approve."

Neal laughed and then scooted closer, "What are you working on anyway?"

"I'm framing the pictures… the sonograms." El passed the glossy photo sheet she had been trimming to Neal. "I'm going to have a baby, a live one this time. I don’t want it to think it's an only child… The others… They're my babies too even if I won’t ever get to see them grow up. They matter, they're family."

Neal swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded as El arranged the framed sonogram pictures in their hand painted frames, the girls had orange frames with Purple lettering and the boys green frames with yellow letters.

All the things that Neal could have said, planned to say never came and he just blurted, "Who's the oldest?"

"Alison Carron Burke." El put down the first framed Sonogram, "Camden Wade Burke, Jessica Lois Burke, Olivia Grace Burke, Bradley Laurence Burke and Peter Adam Burke Junior."

Elizabeth's dead children had no faces, no distinct traits or personalities that she could tell him about. These sonograms and tiny headstones that El had taken him to see a few months ago were all that had been left of these children who never even got to look upon their mother's face or take their first breaths.

In the end all of the pictures were lined up in their frames and Neal knew this was how they would be hung on the wall. The child he had given to Peter and Elizabeth was long awaited and would be much loved and for once Neal wondered what it would be like to see the child he had helped to create.

Peter stuck his head in through the door much like Neal had done earlier, "Hon, Neal, let's to go? My brother won’t wait forever."

"We're coming Peter." Neal stood up and held out his hands t Elizabeth. She smiled gratefully and let him pull her to her feet.

(-)

"Your brother lives in a Manhattan high-rise pent house?"

"Yeah, he's a high profile business lawyer." Peter waved off the desk attendant and punched in the code for the personal elevator, "Works for a big name firm... Hardsen and Spear or something…"

"Pearson Hardmen," Elizabeth helpfully supplied.

"That's _the_ top firm in the city Peter. I have an account with them for Greatest Cake. They don’t have a Burke there…"

"Harvey is my father's son from his first marriage. I have my mother's last name not our fathers."

"How is it you never mentioned siblings in all this time? Not even Moz's dossiers on you had anything about siblings."

Peter's lips thinned at the mention of a dossier, but he gamefully ignored it. "Why would it come up? I have dinner with Harvey whenever Donna, his PA schedules me in, we don’t talk all that often either, and it's not like I run the same circles he does."

"You could if you wanted to."

"And I don’t want to, so drop it, hm?"

The doors slid open into a giant foyer were two men in crisp suits were waiting along with a petite red headed woman. The woman was lovely, her bright red hair had been done into a simple up do that complimented her face and let her fitted blue dress show off her curves without distraction. The taller of the two men was young, he looked like he was in his mid-twenties with dirty blonde hair, wide blue eyes and a suit that wasn't suited for a Manhattan pent house. The older man was tall with bread shoulders and perfectly coifed dark brown hair. He was dressed sharp, a crisp three-piece Navy suit with a red and silver patterned Hermes tie. The whole outfit was a work of art and screamed of Neal's old stylist René.

Neal watched as a smile spread across the man's face and immediately he saw the resemblance, it was in the mouth Peter and Harvey had the same thin yet surprisingly shapely mouth and charming smile. "Pete, still shopping at Sal's?"

"Three suits and a toaster for a hundred dollars, you can't go wrong."

"See that's what I keep telling him!" the tall kid with the atrociously skinny tie grumbled.

"No, you can go wrong Peter. So very, very wrong." Neal quipped while he had the chance.

"Listen to him Pete, A man in a Seville Row suit will never lead you astray. Harvey Specter," Harvey stuck his hand out and smirked, and god he looked just like an expensive Peter with good taste when he did that!

"Neal Caffery,"

"Oh! So you're the infamous Mr. Caffery. God I've been hearing about you for years. Pete was obsessed with you for a while, had me dig up contacts left and right when in pursuit of you. Nice to meet the man in person."

Neal couldn't help but grin and look over his shoulder at Peter, "I like your brother a lot better than you. No one has to tell him his suit is a travesty." Peter rolled his eyes and continued to chat with Donna and the other guy at the breakfast nook, ignoring him.

Harvey had moved on to Elizabeth with a genuine smile. He kissed her cheek and offered his arm so that he could walk her over to the sofa. "Elizabeth, congratulations." 

"Thank you Harvey." El said as she settled down into the sofa.

"Are you having a baby shower?"

"I'm not sure yet but if I do I'll be sure to tell Donna exactly what I want."

Harvey nodded, "And the business? You're doing well."

"Very well, what with all those clients you send my way."

Everyone seemed to drift over as Harvey and Elizabeth talked, Donna said her goodbyes and left for whatever it is she was going to do that night and Mike took the seat next to Harvey. Peter and Neal took the love seat.

"So down to business, what do you need Peter?"

"Wills. Living will and the when you're dead will. We're going to have a baby, I have to get things in order."

"Right, so what are the terms you want?"

"We want the baby to be the primary beneficiary. If we die before he or she reaches majority custody and control of the estate will be given to Neal. We want our child to have at least one parent." Peter glanced at Neal, they hadn’t spoken about this with him but he and Elizabeth were in agreement, "If that's alright with you Neal?"

"Yeah Peter…." All of the sudden Neal felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He knew he and Peter were close; kind of like friends, more like partner and comrades. To trust him with a child, even if it as his child on some weird level, was… He had never expected so much trust from the Burkes. Hell, he never expected to be anything to the child other than Neal, Peter and El's friend who came over from time to time. But here he was, being legally set up as Peter and El's back up in case the unspeakable happened. "That's just fine."

Neal wasn't really paying attention the rest of the time; he signed stacks of papers whenever they were given to him. He was stuck in this haze until Elizabeth stood up and had made her way to the bathroom.

"So French, Greek or Malaysian food?" Harvey asked as he and Mike stacked and filed away the papers they had just finished working on.

"Greek."

"What's wrong with Burgers?" Peter groaned, Mike Commiserated.

"Kid, go tell Ray we need the client car." Mike nodded and ducked out of the apartment leaving to do his bosses bidding.

After Harvey shooed his associate away he was immediately accosted by his brother, "When's the wedding."

"There is no wedding."

Peter smirked and raised his eyebrows. Neal recognized it for his look of complete and total disbelief, it was the look Peter normally gave him when he said he didn't do something involving art theft and forgery, "I would love to be a fly on the wall the day you look into that guys eyes and say _'Michael… I love you. I've loved you for years, I've just been too arrogant and scared to realize it, and… well, now I'm just scared.'_ "

Harvey in turned thumped his brother on the back as he walked past him to retrieve his own coat. "I am not scared, and don’t you quote ‘My Best Friend´s Wedding’ at me. I'm the older brother, I can still kick your ass, FBI or not."

Neal rolled his eyes at the brothers' antics and went to get his pea-coat from the coat rack. He slipped into it before tugging down El's as well. She smiled when he helped her shrug into her coat.

"Thank you, Neal. My back has just been killing me — I didn’t know how I was going to get that thing on."

"I live to serve."

"Don't lie, you live for high fashion and gorgeous art."

"That too."

(-)

Peter's eyes snapped open; there was something very wrong. He could hear the rustling and Satchmo was still sprawled out on his feet. Peter carefully removed El's arm from his chest, eased his way out of the bed and picked up his gun. If there was someone in the house he'd take care of it.

"Satch, you useless thing," he grumbled as he eased the bedroom door open. The retriever cracked an eye open and snorted. Peter turned the lock on the bedroom door and closed it behind him, locking El in the bedroom, it was only a door but it was better to put that between Elizabeth and whatever danger was in the house.

Peter was able to see the light in the guest room on and crept towards the door. He braced his shoulder against the wall and pushed the door open gently and lifted his gun.

"Suit! Watch where you point that thing!" Mozziw squaked indignantly from his perch on a wheeled stool. "You see, I told you this was a bad idea! You should have let me slip a little doxylamine into the wine, it's perfectly safe!"

"And perfectly illegal." Jones added from the stepladder in the far corner.

Peter lowered his weapon and took inventory of the people in his guestroom. Mozzie, Neal, Jones, Diana and much to his surprise Mike Ross, his brother's associate. "What are you all doing here? The sun hasn't even… Wow. "

Peter's eye bulged as he took in what was once his guest room. It looked nothing like it did when Peter had last gone to bed. There were blue painters tarps all along the floor, the walls had been turned into an elaborate mural with dragons and castles and a forest that eventually dissolved at the corner farthest from the window into a beautiful and overly elaborate Ivory and black damask pattern. As if that hadn't been enough on its own the generic plastic light fixtures had been replaced with a wrought iron chandelier. The plain green curtains had been replaced with gauzy ivory tulle drapes. The full sized bed had been replaced with a [gorgeous wrought iron bib](http://www.vivababy.com/pics/74343-fantasyTesoroCrib.jpg) and an [antique iron and ash wood dresser](http://ak.buy.com/PI/0/500/221622885.jpg). 

"Sweetie, what’s going on why did you…" Elizabeth called drowsily from somewhere behind Peter. When she appeared at Peter's side (Satchmo at her heels) the sleep cleared from her eyes and was immediately replaced by tears. "Oh my god."

Elizabeth sobbed hiding her face in Peter's shoulder and everyone in the room started to look to each other in askance on the verge of panicking about not knowing what to do about the crying pregnant woman in the room.

"Hon…"

"It's just so beautiful …like a fairytale come to life…"

Neal, Mozzie, Jones, Diana and Mike all smiled and continued their different tasks, happy with the knowledge that Elizabeth really did like the nursery they were building.

(-)

Elizabeth Burke folded the little clothes that she just washed carefully and stacked them. Once they were all neatly folded and organized into stacks she would tuck them away in the dresser draws of the nursery. El smile softly as she looked around the room. It really was a thing of beauty. It was elegant, magical and whimsical and he couldn’t help but to think of what t would be like to lay her baby— her only living child, down in that cradle to sleep.

From time to time Elizabeth would gaze at the amazingly detailed walls and wonder. Would she have a daughter with long dark curls that dressed up in tiaras and played at being a princess, calling for daddy to come be her hero and rescue her from the tower where the dragons had hidden her away, or would she have a spunky little boy with bight eyes who played at being a knight and slaying the dragons in his walls to save his mother the queen of some imagined land? She thought about first steps, bagged lunches, first words and a child's laughter as she tucked away more clothes into the bureau. 

El glanced at the calendar on the wall. She wasn’t due for another seven weeks and today was a Thursday. Thursdays she never works full days, only evenings but to make sure she has at least just a little time with Peter on those days Elizabeth meets her husband with a pair of brown bag lunches and a smile in the concrete court yard of the FBI home office building. 

Elizabeth nodded to herself and stood from the rocker that June had gifted to her, determined to brave the smell of canned ham and mayo to make Peter a deviled ham sandwich.

(-)

It was nearly 1:00pm when Elizabeth climbed the subway stairs into the courtyard of the FBI Manhattan offices. She had expected to see Peter there waiting for her, but instead she caught sight of Diana who rushed over and wrapped her arms around El in a quick hug before guiding her towards the offices.

"Peter can't make it down today, working lunch." Diana explains as they send their purses through the metal detectors, "He sent me to come get you so you two can lunch in his office."

"Oh okay, well the view in his office is beautiful." Elizabeth tried to push away the disappointment at not having her husband completely to herself for an hour. 

El and Diana caught up with one another as the rode up to the 19th floor. It was pleasant, she didn’t get to speak much to Diana but she liked the woman all the same. Peter always said she was the most promising of all his protégés, and El could see why that was true. There was never a person she met who was so much like Peter. Diana was intelligent, worldly, dedicated and driven, she would never stop until she had found the truth, had a strong sense of right and wrong and a loyalty that bordered on scary at times. There was no way she couldn’t move up the ranks until she reached the top.

The Elevator dinged and Elizabeth walked side by side with Diana past the frosted glass doors into the bullpen where she was surprised by what seemed to be the whole of the FBI's Manhattan offices.

"Surprise!"

There they were dressed in suits and slacks and ties holding little gifts and there was a cake somewhere off to the side and Peter was standing on the steps with a wide smile on his face. 

Elizabeth smiled and handed her purse of to Diana and threw herself into the fray making rounds and chatting with everyone graciously accepting their gifts and being generally at home in the surprise office party. She was shocked to see that Yvonne, June, Harvey and his assistant Mike were all in attendance as well.

"You never sent Donna your request," Harvey Specter was never one for beating around the bush, "so now I'm forced to order something huge and extravagant for my niece or nephew."

"Oh Harvey! Don’t you dare." El shoved at his shoulder and the man only wore an insufferably smug smirk.

(-)

"Yvonne, Yvonne can you help me with this?" Elizabeth called over her assistant manager and motioned to the large cardboard box on the roller dolly, "I can’t pick it up and I need to organize the samples."

"No problem!" Yvonne chirruped and hefted the box easily onto the table. "you shouldn’t be lifting so much anyway, you're about to pop as it is."

Elizabeth laughed and let her self-fall back into her chair. "Oh god I wish I he would come out already. I'm ready to not be pregnant anymore! My back has been killing me something awful today and hopefully my bladder will recover from being a hacky sack!" Elizabeth froze; eyes wide and jaw dropped in disbelief as she felt a warm rush slide flood her thighs. "I…I…that wasn't—"

"Your water just broke, baby…" Yvonne crouched down in front of Elizabeth not caring about the mess of amniotic fluid that was all over the floor and holding on to her boss' hands. "Call Peter, tell him to meet us at the hospital and I'll go get our coats."

(-)

Peter shamelessly abused use of his siren to get to the hospital as fast as he could, blowing past red lights and forcing the other motorist to make room for him as he made his way to the hospital. Neal clutched tightly at the handle on the door of the Tarus but didn't say a word.

Once they got to the hospital Peter was whisked away by nurses that Christie had gotten to wait for them. Peter was prepped and clothed in a blue smock, hair cap, paper mask and gloves before he was dumped at El's bedside.

"Hey hon," Peter laced his fingers through El's.

"Peter, we're going to be parents." She gave him her brightest smile and held tight to his hand. "You do realize that we're going to have to saddle this kid with Gorge as a middle name, right?"

Peter laughed, "why?"

"Because Neal is a first name, it wouldn't sound right as a middle name"

"Makes perfect sense to me." Peter nodded his agreement, "What if it's a girl? I'd be crucified if we named our kid Georgina."

"It's a middle name, she can just initial and never use it if she wants. I just want Neal to know, for the baby to know what Neal has done for us." 

"Alright, honey."

(-)

The hours passed very quickly and still all too slow, El was alternating between tears and groans of pain and exhausted panting as she curled and twitched and tried her level best to get the baby out of her. When the doctors said push she grit her teeth and wrapped her hands around the bed rails to brace herself.

It took a few tried but finally the baby's head was out, then its body and the doctor called out, "A boy!" and handed the baby to the nurses so he could be toweled off and have his airways cleared.

The baby didn’t cry, and on some level Peter knew that all babies don’t cry when they're born but the silence still worried him.

"Okay, now just the after birth and you're done," The Doctor coached and Elizabeth sent the man a hateful glare. "I know, I know, but the hard parts over now."

Peter squeezed El's shoulder and tucked her loose hair back over her ears. "Come on, Hon. the sooner this parts done the sooner you can hold the baby."

Elizabeth gave one last giant push and the doctor nodded approvingly. Nurses swooped in immediately to clean up and get rid of the afterbirth and the doctor brought the damp bundled baby over to the bed. Elizabeth smiled radiantly, as if she hadn't just went through eight hours of what seemed like torture, and held out her arms for him.

"What a handsome boy," she cooed softly at the little swollen thing in her arms, "It's nice to finally meet you. I was quite afraid that you would be playing hacky sack with my insides for the rest of our life."

Peter grinned at the picture of his wife and his son and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He snapped two pictures one where Elizabeth was looking only at the baby in her arms and another where she was looking at Peter. A nurse took the phone and was kind enough to get a shot of all three of them before the monitors started to scream and El's arm went limp, the baby lying still on her chest as her eyes rolled back into her head.

The baby was put into a plastic bassinet and wheel out of the room and Peter stood with his back to the wall watching as the doctor and nurses scrambled about the room and pulled the blankets from El's bed. 

There was so much blood.

(-)

Peter sat in the chair beside's Elizabeth's body her still warm hand cradled in his own, his whole body wrapped around her hand. The eight hours of waiting were showing, his hair was a mess; his tie had been untied and hung draped over his shoulders. His eyes were focused on the wedding band that was wrapped around the finger of the love of his life, his one and only wife.

Anyone with eyes could see that at this moment Peter Burke was a man defeated. He was a man defeated. 

Neal came into the room on cat's paws and took his place standing to the left of the chair. He doesn’t say anything; this isn't a time for words. Neal places his hand flat between Peter's shoulder blades, he doesn’t rub, doesn't squeeze just lets his hand rest there so that Peter knows that even if it feels like it he's not alone.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Peter's voice was shaky and clogged with tears, "El was so excited, she couldn't wait to be a mother."

"She's still a mother… Elizabeth loved her son even before he was conceived, that's what's important."

"Yeah, yeah… It's just… It wasn’t supposed to go this way."

"I know," Neal whispered.

They stood there still and quiet as the warmth left El's body. The men finally moved when one of the nurses came back wheeling in the plastic basinet where the baby was now resting. It was a boy, with soft pink skin, a full head of wispy black curls, a round and still puffy face, pale blue eyes, a rounded bubble nose and pretty bow-shaped lips. He was a surprisingly beautiful baby. 

Peter walked over to the crib and gently wrapped his hands carefully around the little person that he was now responsible for. It was scary, how his giant, callused hands were almost as large as the baby. Peter held the baby close to his chest and retreated back to the chair at the bedside. 

Neal felt his stomach roil as he looked on at the heart breaking parody of a happy family. 

"I don’t know what to call him…" the tears fell freely from Peter's eyes, "El named all the others."

"What about Elliot?"

"Elliot… Elliot's a good name."


	7. Chapter 7

**Epilogue:**  
April 2014

The high barbed wire fences and the guards standing at their posts with their high-powered rifles were intimidating. The huge shadow of the building stretched across the hot asphalt making the whole place seem thrice as foreboding than it actually was. 

Neal climbed out of the Tarsus and began to strap on the carrier with the ease of the well practiced as Peter wrestled with the monstrosity that was Elliot's car seat. 

"You know, you can always send a card or a photo, right?" 

Neal took the baby from Peter and stetted the lightly drowsing child into the carrier fastening the hooks with as little movement as possible before. When the baby was secure and Neal had the surprisingly masculine leather diaper bag on his shoulder he began the slow walk to the prison's visitor's entrance, "He should see Elliot at lest once before he dies."

There was an embarrassingly through search and snipes from corrections officers as Peter and Neal made their way to the nursery room but neither man responded. 

In the been eight months since Elizabeth's death and Peter had in some odd way come to terms with the fact that El was dead and that he and Neal were Co-Parents. When they went anywhere with little Elliot; to Gymboree, the doctors or dropped him off at daycare they always assumed that Peter and Neal were a couple. At first Peter would get this broken look about him like he was ready to shout that his wife was dead and that he was part of a couple no longer, now he just ignored it and went about his business. Neal, as always, took his cues from Peter and ignored the assumptions, looks of disgust or obnoxious questions that came their way.

Elliot was a happy baby with Elizabeth's wide almond shaped eyes (even if that pale blue is all Neal), plush lips and round face, Neal's thick dark curls and Peter's steady temperament. He was their darling and neither man was ashamed to admit it. 

Peter entered the nursery before Neal, sizing up the man in the orange jump suit, the guards and the toys before allowing Neal to enter with their son. Peter stands unobtrusively besides a guard, his badge showing proudly on his chest and his hands balled into fists in his pockets. Peter has never seen Neal look so self-conscious, no unlike him self as he approaches the table.

"Peter," Neal's voice was but a whisper, but Peter is attuned to him more than ever. He takes the baby bag from Neal and holds the baby while Neal shrugs the carrier off before swapping it for Elliot.

Neal finally sits down, Elliot on his thigh leaning back on to his chest comfortably suckling a pacifier, and looks across the table into beautiful clear blue eyes that mirror his own. 

It's not hard to see the resemblance. James Bennett and Neal Caffery look like bizarro-world mirror versions of one another. It's like looking into Neal's futures; Clear pale blue eyes that are much too gentle for this place, thick dark curls with smatterings of silver around the temples, his goatee is mostly silver as well. James and Neal share the same square jaw and pink —almost feminine— bow shaped lips. James is in admirable shape for a man his age. He's slender, well muscled and the only the tell tale lines around his eyes and mouth and the touches of silver in his hair betrayed his age.

"Hi. I'm Neal George Caffery. This is my son, Elliot George Burke."


	8. Notice

The sequel has just been posted. :)  
It's called about face.

**Author's Note:**

> My coding went a bit wonky. Sorry I think I fixed it but if you still see any coding errors please let me know
> 
> Also, I do have an idea for a second part for third fic (that story will be Peter/Neal)


End file.
